


SEX SEX SEX

by cable69



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 07:50:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5658394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cable69/pseuds/cable69
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It has been two months since Kirk and Spock have had sex. It has been two months of complications and screw-ups and the worst goddamn timing ever in the history of anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	SEX SEX SEX

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on ff.net; unedited

It has been two months since Kirk and Spock have had sex. It has been two months of complications and screw-ups and the worst goddamn timing ever in the history of anything. First Spock got shot in the knee on Eirlan. Then Kirk went off for sensitivity training, which was a gigantic disaster. Then Spock had to finish a report for the Federation over an entirely new solar system consisting of twenty-three planets in just under a week, because the Federation were bitches (according to Kirk). Then Kirk got the measles. (Bones freaked.) Then the ship got taken over by Klingons. Then they had to clean up the ship after they killed all the Klingons. Then some aliens stole Chekov and tried to use his brain to rejuvenate their race. Then Spock had to help Scotty repair the warp engines. Then Kirk had to order a shore leave because everybody was so exhausted, only the planet they landed on for shore leave turned out to be inhabited by Klingons. So then they had to kill all the Klingons and clean up the planet. And then they got an order from Starfleet to go pick up some ambassador and escort him to some planet.

Kirk doesn’t even know. He is too sex-starved to think straight. (Not that he thinks straight very often anyway, what with Spock around.) At the moment, he is supposed to be changing in to his dress uniform, but Spock is helping him, and Christ is Spock distracting.

“Captain,” says Spock in a strangled voice, his breath a prayer in Kirk’s ear and his body warm, warm and inviting like a nymph’s embrace.

“Okay, precisely,” Kirk bites out. Spock is unbuckling his belt. “Shit. God. Spock. Spock, I want you.”

Spock makes this little noise like the world is ending. His hands cannot seem to leave Kirk’s fly alone. They dance around his thighs and hips and oh god, oh god, Kirk does not have time for this.

“The Ambassador,” wheezes Kirk, grabbing Spock’s wrists and pulling them away from his cock. “Also, the mission to Delta Vega.”

“Sir,” Spock says brokenly, and Kirk has never known that note of pleading before, and if he wasn’t hard already, this makes him stiff as a goddamn masthead. “It will not take long.”

“That’s for sure,” mutters Kirk, trying to push Spock away. “Why am I being the responsible one here?”

He waits for Spock to reply and then realizes that he’s still holding Spock’s wrists tightly, and Spock, who’s always had a thing for bondage, is not reacting well—that is to say, he is reacting very firmly—to this treatment. Kirk drops Spock’s hands like hot potatoes. Spock licks his lips for a few moments and then finally seems able to speak.

“You should don your dress uniform, Captain,” he says, trying for normalcy.

“Yep,” mutters Kirk. “You too. Go over there.” He motions grandly away.

Spock gives him a positively hangdog look and retreats to the far corner of Kirk’s quarters, where Spock’s own dress uniform is laid out. Kirk sheds the rest of his clothing with trembling hands. Spock watches, wide-eyed. (He has removed his clothes without any trace of unease, the bastard.)

When they’re both wearing just their boxers, they stare at each other across the room. Kirk’s legs make all these movements to go over there, and his mind is thinking nothing but Spock sex good take please yes want, but he stills himself, and paints a pained smile across his face that nevertheless communicates his meaning. Spock signals back by quirking his eyebrow like so, and flexing his extensor muscles evocatively. Then he reaches for his own dress uniform and, with practiced ease, pulls on the pants.

Kirk is full of sighs and he sighs a few of them. Spock doesn’t make a sound in reply but his expression states clearly that he agrees. He is making a meal of raking his eyes over Kirk’s form, tongue darting out as he stares at Kirk’s crotch, a flash of teeth as he takes in Kirk’s pectorals.

Kirk thinks that he’s probably going to actually die in this meeting.

“Next week, okay?” he says pleadingly to Spock, who is doing up the top buttons of his uniform. “I’m sorry about the horrible timing, about all of the horrible timing. But we have the meeting, then the planet, then the conference, then the reports.”

“Indeed,” says Spock, who has calmed himself by now and isn’t even sporting an erection (Kirk spares a spike of hatred for the irritation usefulness of Vulcan emotional—and physical—repression). “And I, like you, have important tasks to complete. And since we do not share quarters—nor should we, especially at this time—it would be unwise for us to copulate within the next week.”

It’s one thing to say it and another to not give it a blowjob. Kirk breaks, comprehensively. “You’re sure?” he begs shamelessly.

“I am positive,” says Spock, standing stiff—only, not really—in the face of glorious sex and smacking it down like the hand of God.

“Okay,” says Kirk, resigned. “Okay. Let’s go met this ambassador. Where’s he from?”

Spock gives him the spiel as they leave the room. Kirk’s trying to listen, really he is, but Spock looks amazing in his dress uniform.

“Captain,” says Spock sharply. Kirk jumps guiltily. “Where is the ambassador from?”

“Mesina,” says Kirk, wildly picking a proper noun from the conversation.

Spock eyes him. “That is correct, but I do not believe you were paying attention.”

“I totally was,” Kirk protests. They’re walking towards the turbolift by now. “Mining rights. Dilithium. Ha.”

“Congratulations. You are capable of listening,” says Spock sarcastically. He twists the turbolift dial to deck seven. Kirk, watching, is alarmed to see a goddamn smirk spread across Spock’s face. “You deserve a reward, sir.”

Before he can anything, Spock has got him up against the wall and is palming his cock through his thick pants and breathing sex noises into his ear. Kirk goes completely buh as Spock fucking purrs, licks Kirk’s lips, and grinds his hip between Kirk’s legs. Kirk has time for an arm-flail that tries and fails to catch Spock’s shoulder blades, an involuntary pelvic thrust, and an extremely feminine noise before Spock, totally unfazed, is standing three feet away from him again and the turbolift door is sliding open to reveal the entire bridge staring at them.

Spock merely casts Kirk a “well-Captain-are-you-coming-or-aren’t-you?” look, the smug sonofabitch, and leaves the lift. Kirk offers heartfelt obscenities to a few pantheons, then tests his legs, which are less jelly-esque than he suspects. Sulu giggles. Kirk longs for the old days, when ship’s captains could put disorderly sailors on latrine duty.

“Er,” says Kirk articulately. “L-lieutenant Uhura, Ambassador Yeek’s status?”

“Arrival in three minutes, sir,” says Uhura, pronouncing the “sir” with less respect than she would grant to a slug. Kirk hates her enough to fuel the sun.

“Keep me posted,” Kirk grinds out, sitting in his chair. Sulu and Chekov immediately lean over and start whispering to each other. Spock is at his station, projecting innocence. Green-blooded hobgoblin, Kirk thinks meanly. He issues a few commands, since he did come up here for a reason.

In two minutes and thirty-four seconds, Uhura says, “Captain, Ambassador Yeek’s ship is requesting permission to dock with the Enterprise.”

“Granted,” says Kirk, standing. “The reception committee will greet him on Deck C, conference 2B. Get Bones and Scotty there.”

“Yessir,” says Uhura, weirdly not angry with him. He stares at her, perplexed, for a few seconds, and then realizes that she has figured out what he hasn’t, which is that he’s going to have to ride in the turbolift with Spock again.

Kirk actually says, “Shit,” aloud, but thankfully it’s soft and only Uhura hears him, and she gives him this “your-life-sucks-and-you-deserve-it” look, and he hates her even more and hopes she gets an STD from Gaila (since he sure did). Then he gets up and looks over to Spock, who is already standing. He has this completely lecherous expression on his face, but as soon as anybody else looks at him, it melts utterly away. Kirk’s pretty interested in killing something by this point.

When he gets into the turbolift with Spock he is so worked up that when Spock tries to corner him, he corners Spock instead.

Spock probably could have exerted his freakish Vulcan strength and shoved Kirk off, but his heart evidently isn’t into it, so he lets Kirk molest him thoroughly and is the one looking disheveled when the turbolift opens to Deck C. Of course, this time, it’s only Bones waiting for them, and Bones just rolls his eyes. Kirk pouts a bit at the unfairness but Spock and Bones are already walking without him, so he squawks his indignation (which is ignored) and hurries to catch up.

The meeting is full of Kirk exchanging significant looks with Spock’s crotch and pretending to listen to Ambassador Yeek, who looks a lot like a stalk of broccoli. Finally it’s over and Kirk says something about forgetting his PADD although he has a hundred spares and flees back to his room, dragging Spock.

It’s just that there’s a sign up over Spock in flashing neon red letters that reads “SEX SEX SEX” and it is completely impossible to ignore. He gets Spock inside and shoves him up against the door and kisses him like he hasn’t breathed in years and Spock’s tongue is oxygen. His hands are about to take a trip south when a stupid horrible terrible little voice in his head says sanctimoniously, “Let’s think about this.”

He stops at Spock’s ribcage. Spock, who has not objected till now, gets a chance to apply his logic, and paws Kirk off of him. Kirk sighs.

“It is better to wait,” he finally realizes.

“Of course it is,” says Spock, straightening his tunic.

“That’s not what you were thinking a few seconds ago,” Kirk grumbles.

Spock narrows his eyes in consternation and says nothing, and Kirk laughs, because this is the best part: the tension resting below the surface like a hatchling earthquake; the frantic necking; the close calls. And sure, the act itself is not, by any means, something to trifle with, and the afterglow has the heavenly aura of totally amazing.

Right now it’s been two months, but nothing has changed. They aren’t like batteries that need to be charged with coitus. He still loves Spock and Spock still loves him, and sure, things could be spicier, but sweetness is good too, and when Kirk leans in for a chaste kiss, he thinks as long as he has Spock’s flavor at all, he’ll be okay.


End file.
